


Why They Stayed

by eponine119



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, the 70s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119
Summary: Sawyer and Juliet both have doubts.
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Why They Stayed

Why They Stayed  
by eponine119  
April 12, 2020

“Do you ever wonder why we stay here?” 

“Bad day at the motor pool?” Sawyer asks mildly. He rubs the back of Juliet's neck, digging in to the tension at the top of her spine, until she sighs. There's a dirt smudge on her nose that makes him smile. 

“Two people tried to sign out the same van for the same time.”

“Nobody died,” he offers. “Or got punched in the nose. I woulda heard about it.” 

“You're right,” she says. “Then I spent four hours working on a carburetor and I still couldn't get it going.” 

“You'll get it tomorrow.” He smiles at her. 

“Why do you keep looking at my --” She rubs her face with her hands and finally figures it out. “Damn it!” she yells. “You should have told me.” 

“It was adorable.” 

“I am not adorable,” she informs him. Her face is turning red. He's about to tease her further when she bursts into tears. 

“Hey,” he says gently, and puts one hand on her ribs to ground her. “What's goin' on in there?” He looks into her eyes. 

She shakes her head and bites her lips and looks at him like a cornered animal. She looks like she desperately wants to get away from him. He's not sure if he should pull her close or let her go. 

“Don't you ever just want to go home?” she asks in a husky voice. 

Pull her in close, then. He folds her in his arms. One hand holds her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair. After a second, her fingers close against the fabric of his shirt and she just cries. “Get it on out,” he says, still stroking as she clings to him. 

After a moment, she takes a deep breath and picks up her head. Her eyes are red and still watery. She nods like she's all right, and he lets her go. She slides away from him and he hears the bathtub filling with water. 

He was surprised to learn this is just a thing that happens sometimes. He doesn't have that much experience, being with women for the long haul. It's a change from the love 'em and leave 'em he used to do. Learning how to stay when things got hard, or bewildering. He thinks he's got this down now.

In the kitchen, he puts dinner in the fridge. He pours some wine into a red plastic cup so he won't get the lecture on how glass is dangerous in the bathroom. He grabs a beer for himself. He knocks on the bathroom door. There's no response, but he knows it's not locked, so he pushes it open. 

The steamy air hits him, and he pushes the door shut behind him. He takes a long look at Juliet lying back in the tub, water up to her shoulders, eyes closed, damp hair starting to curl. He sets the cup on the side of the bathtub, then sits down with a sigh on the shag bathmat. He cracks the beer open. “Bottoms up.” 

“You're too good to me,” she says. Looking at him. 

“You feelin' any better?” 

“No, I mean it,” she says, and takes a tiny sip of the wine. 

“Might be cause I love you,” he says. The words still make his heart stop, every time he says them. She shakes her head a little like she doesn't believe him. “I do,” he says in a low voice. 

He's learned the whole routine, but he doesn't know what to do when she gets like this. He can take care of her and comfort her physically. But he doesn't know what to say or do when she starts to doubt everything. He halfway understands it – he can't believe anyone would really fall for a guy like him – but it doesn't give him any insight into how to help her. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know what to do. 

So they sit there and breathe. He watches her and she closes her eyes, then dunks down under the water and resurfaces and finishes the wine. She smiles, and he thinks things are getting back to normal. “Want me to bring you a book?” he offers. Sometimes she likes to lay in the tub and read. 

She puts her hand on his. “Stay,” she says. 

“Water must be getting cold.” He's sweating, but her hand is cool on his. He reaches for the knob and she makes a small sound as the hot water reinvigorates the tub. He rubs her fingers, the tips wrinkled with water. “Turnin' into a fish.” 

“Fish are happy,” she says, and closes her eyes again. 

He doesn't really understand. “Wine goin' to your head?” 

“Not enough,” she mumbles and slips deeper into the reheated water. 

“Are you not... happy?” He holds his breath. This is not how this usually goes. 

Her blue eyes open wide. Her lips part. She's surprised as she realizes what he thinks. “It's not you,” she says. 

Now he can't breathe at all. “What is it then?” He's panicking a little. 

“What are we doing here, James?” 

He doesn't really have an answer for that. “Livin'. Being together.” 

“We could do that anywhere.” 

A thin stream of oxygen makes it into his lungs. It feels like his heart's started again. “You wanna go.” 

“Do you ever think about it? Why we stayed?” 

He stayed to look for the other survivors. She stayed for him. That's how the story has always gone. He's not sure anymore if it was ever true. 

“Why did you stay?” he asks, his mouth dry. 

“Because you asked. Because I had nowhere else to go.” 

“Those are two different things.” 

“Maybe you're not the only one who didn't want to be alone,” she says. She sets the empty red cup afloat in the tub like a toy ship and watches it. 

“Where do you wanna go?” he asks. If she wants to go, they can go together. “Paris? Rome? Canada?” 

“Canada?” she asks, half laughing. He shrugs, but it worked because it kind of made her laugh. “Home doesn't exist anymore. Yet.” 

“Girl, this is the only real home I've ever had,” he says softly. He strokes his fingertips along the soft skin on the inside of her arm. The words make him feel like he's naked. 

“That's why I'd never ask you to leave the island,” she says. 

He realizes she misunderstood. It's not the island. It's this. Them. Her. 

She's his home, but when she says home, she's still thinking of something else. He swallows hard. Suddenly he feels like he needs to guard himself now. 

“It all feels so pointless,” she says. She looks at him and then up at the ceiling. “We don't believe in the Dharma Initiative. We're not building anything here. We're just killing time waiting for people who are never coming back.” 

He's stunned but not surprised. Maybe he's had some sense of this from her for awhile. Maybe the bad days have gotten too often, or the really amazing days gotten too few. Maybe it's just what he was thinking before – no one's really going to love him, not like this, not forever. 

He feels her watching him for a long time as he runs his fingers through the long yarn strands and wonders the last time they washed this bathmat. 

“Say something,” she says. 

“That's a lot to get from a busted carburetor and two guys reservin' the same van.” 

“One was a woman.” 

“Well, okay then.” 

“I hurt you and I didn't mean to,” she says. She sits up, causing a giant wave to rush from one end of the tub to the other. 

“'s okay,” he says. Lying. Still looking at the bathmat. 

“James,” she says. He shakes his head and still won't look at her, because his eyes are burning. “Hand me the towel.” 

He tugs it off the towel bar without moving more than his arm, and hands it to her. In spite of himself, he watches as she rises from the water like Venus, and secures the towel around her body. She steps out of the tub and then leans over it – over him – to let open the drain to let the water out. The towel hangs open as she moves, exposing a slice of ass and ribs and breast until she stands up again. 

Usually these nights end up with him in the tub with her, or the shower, or in bed. Tonight won't. He wants her, and he doesn't want her. 

All he can think of is her. Day, night, patrolling in his van, lying beside her in the dawn, making her dinner, reading his book before he falls asleep. And she's not thinking of him. She's thinking their life together is pointless. When it's his everything. 

He manages to hold it inside until he's alone. Once she walks out of the bathroom, he puts his head down on his knees. He's still fighting against it, but the tears burn out of him. He can hear her moving through the house, feet slapping against the floor, opening the bureau drawer, getting a drink of water and opening the refrigerator door. It makes him cry harder, but he knows he can't make a sound. 

A sob slips out anyway. He reaches for the handle and flushes the toilet, thinking what an idiot he is. He sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. 

And then suddenly she's there, kneeling in front of him, putting her hand on his knee, reaching for his face. She holds it in her palm, forcing him look at her when he really doesn't want to. He would rather hide his embarrassing reddened eyes and tear-streaked face. 

“I love you,” she says, and he can feel how much she thinks she means it. How much he wants to believe it. 

“You said --” he can't finish. 

“How I feel about you and how I feel about this place are two different things,” she insists. “Nothing's going to change how I feel about you.” 

“Except me makin' you stay here.” 

“Nobody's making me do anything I don't want to do,” she says. “I am going to love you until the day I die. And probably even after that.” 

He takes another rough breath. “We can go. Anywhere.” 

“This is where we belong. Together.” She leans in and kisses him, and it's sweet. She tastes like wine and chocolate. She looks at him carefully. “You're still doubting me.” 

She's always been able to see right through him. “No,” he says. 

“It'll probably happen again,” she says quietly. “I'll say something stupid without thinking and hurt you by accident. You have to trust me.” 

“I do trust you.” 

She shakes her head. They sit there together for a long time. The pressure of her touch makes him feel more steady, more normal. Like the turmoil inside him has returned to a state of rest. 

“Know what I've never been able to figure out,” she says. 

“What's that?” The weight on his chest is starting to lift. 

“Half the time your eyes are blue and the other half they're green. I can't figure out what makes them change.” 

He wants to laugh because it's the silliest thing he's ever heard. But he still doesn't feel much like laughing. “Colored contacts,” he says. She smiles. He shrugs and answers for real, “Depends on the weather.” 

“Must be stormy skies today.” 

“They're green,” he says. The official answer. 

“Right now,” she agrees. It's a distraction, but it's working. She just keeps looking at him. “I've got your back.” 

No matter what else, he's always trusted this. He never realized before now that every time she says that, she's been saying that she loves him. 

“I know.” And he does.

(end)


End file.
